


Crowned with a radiant garland

by erbor



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, First Meetings, Fluff, Love Confessions, Love at First Sight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-16
Updated: 2016-03-16
Packaged: 2018-05-27 03:24:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6267580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erbor/pseuds/erbor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She is called Artanis when they meet, but in time she may allow him to give her another name.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crowned with a radiant garland

**Author's Note:**

> Written in December 2015 for the [tolkiensecretartexchange](http://tolkiensecretartexchange.tumblr.com)! this is for [carnetdesipho](http://carnetdesipho.tumblr.com), who had some great requests in her wish list but I’m Galadriel/Celeborn trash so I went with that one. Shout-out to [tosquinha](http://tosquinha.tumblr.com) because I stalked her Galadriel and Celeborn tags on tumblr for inspiration.

She is called Artanis when they meet, and every inch of her is radiant. Like her elder brothers, fair and noble princes of the Noldor, she is touched by a sort of greatness that not all Eldar possess. From the tip of her toes to the crown of her head, she is imbued with the light of the Lamps, silver and golden, and Celeborn fears that just looking upon her might be enough to ensnare him. Like Thingol and Melian, a forest may grow round them as they gaze into each other’s eyes for years, and he would not mind in the least.

Her beauty and strength of spirit are such that were he not aware of her parentage, Celeborn would suspect her a Maia or perhaps even a Valië—nigh unattainable to someone such as him. For what is a Sindar noble to a Holy One? Yet when she smiles at him and bows her head, her glittering hair cascading off her shoulder to whisper against her cheek, he feels that she could be within his humble reach.

She is called Artanis when they meet, but in time she may allow him to give her another name.

* * *

King Thingol is suspicious of the Noldor, but he at least seems pleased with the bond struck between their princess and his wife. Queen Melian has the wisdom of stars in her eyes, and she teaches Artanis the song of nightingales under the shade of tall trees.

Celeborn is never invited to these outings. Yet the sound of their voices, entwined in beauteous melody, fills the halls like zephyr through a forest. Melian’s is as serene as ever, but Artanis’s lower tones are brimming with a deep lament that he longs to soothe. The Queen is capable of great emotion when singing, but the honest rawness that the Noldor princess invokes leaves her deep timbre haunting his mind even in his sleep—sometimes a cruel nightmare, sometimes a sweet dream, but never something to forget.

* * *

Doriath is Celeborn’s home, and he yearns for Artanis to accept it as her own as well. They have yet to cross paths outside of the King’s court and exchange more than only polite words over crowded dining tables, but if she were to leave the realm, Celeborn would feel her absence keenly.

He often sees her disappear into the surrounding woodland from his balconies, a dot of glimmering light vanishing into the green, and his avid eyes wait patiently, sometimes for hours on end, until they catch a glimpse of her gentle glow amidst the tree branches in the distance. Her aimless wandering causes an ache in his chest, and it does not take long until he musters his courage and offers to show her the marvels of his home—the silvery cupules of the Neldoreth, the clear and bubbling waters of the Sirion, the faint light of dusk over the treetops of the Nivrim.

Celeborn guides Artanis through Doriath’s vast forests with only his presence at first, then with his hand in hers, picking wild flowers off the ground and weaving them into her silken hair.

For the sake of comparison, he plaits her a crown of yellow irises and then laughs at how the blossoms, once bright and beautiful amidst the tall and lush grasses, now seem to have grown less vibrant in colour when placed upon her fair head. He calls her Alatáriel to show this, and the smile that curves her lips betrays her approval.

* * *

Artanis’s elder brother talks of making a home for himself and his siblings by the River Narog. He speaks of King Thingol’s excellent ruling—how it inspired him to move on and find a land for himself to rule. There is murmuring, then cheering, then feasting to celebrate the future-King.

Celeborn feels pride at such praise being bestowed upon his Lord, and joy at the merriness, yet he fears what the eldest Noldor’s departure may signify. He is sure the prince will make a fair king, but he loathes the parting of his kin. Doriath is Celeborn’s home and he could never leave it, but he doubts that it would make him glad on its own now that he has come to learn how much sweeter life can be when walking through glades hand-in-hand with another.

He seeks Artanis out that night, and they sit in the gardens to talk under the waning moon. She is diamonds and polished iron, hard and lovely, and Celeborn takes her hand in his.

“Will you go, my lady?” he asks. “Or will you stay and make me glad?”

“I would share in your gladness for now,” she replies, her silver eyes peering into his, “and go only if it is with you by my side, to found a realm and call it our own.”

“Someday,” he promises, and then he leans forward for a kiss.


End file.
